myblogisPoop

you know how I know you're gay? You like Coldplay.

The Top 8 Gayest Moments in my Life

8. I produced a sketch comedy show in college called "Pregame." Right before our final episode ever was to air, we came up with a creative way to promote the show. We would send Crazy Mike out on campus painted up like a caveman, wearing nothing but a leopard G-string, and have him hunt with a big stick that had a blue dolphin vibrator tied to the end. Unfortunately, the cops were there after 5 minutes, we got in A LOT of trouble, and our last episode never aired. That wasn't the gay part. The gay part was before we sent him out I wrote "Pregame- Thurs @9" on Mike's bare white ass with a black sharpie.

7. At our last BWE wrap party I played Gay Chicken with our gay production coordinator. If you've never heard of Gay Chicken, it's where two guys lean in to kiss, and the first one to flinch loses. Well, not surprisingly I lost Gay Chicken to the gay guy. "Ain't gonna be no rematch!" "Don't want one!"

6. Sometimes if I get really drunk and I'm at a really fratty bar I start to act gay. I do it to make people who unironically say things like 'homo' and 'fag' uncomfortable. Visiting Baltimore last summer, I offered to buy a guy a drink while I flashed him a big smile. I could actually see his thought process: "Do I punch this guy in the face or do I just walk away quickly?" Thankfully he chose the latter.

5. I bought two Fiona Apple CD's at the same time.

4. I don't know if this is necessarily gay or just stupid, but I once chewed a mint flavored condom like a piece of bubblegum. I accidentally spit it out when I tried to blow a bubble.

3. During a game of Strip Jenga in college my friend Joe pulled the piece that said "kiss anybody in the room." Despite being straight, and despite being surrounded by a bunch of girls, Joe grabbed my head and kissed me on the lips. I didn't see it coming. Don't read that line the wrong way.

2. When I was a freshman we had this weird little guy in my dorm named Schlong. I have no clue what his real name was. Schlong was one of those guys that tried too hard to fit in. He'd lie about stupid things, he'd awkwardly hit on girls, and he kind of looked like a Doozer from Fraggle Rock. He earned his nickname because he once whipped it out for two of the hot sorority girls in our dorm after they talked him into it. Well, one night while a bunch of us were drinking, talking, and messing with Schlong he agreed to whip it out again. It was really late, and right when he said that my girlfriend decided it was time to go to bed. She asked if I'd like to join. I was forced with a decision: do I go upstairs and have sex with my incredibly attractive girlfriend, or do I stick around and wait to see if this freak Schlong shows everybody his penis? I don't even want to type the answer to that one.

1. In the fifth grade my class did a production of "A Midsummer Night's Dream." I got the part of Oberon, which I was very excited about because it was a lead. I spent the rest of the day telling people, "I'm Oberon, the king of the fairies!" I probably said that a thousand times. When I got home and told my dad he told me to never say that again. And I haven't. To this day, no matter what happens, I'll never say that I'm king of the fairies... even if I do eventually beat a gay guy at Gay Chicken.

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b at 11:36 AM

those are people who died, who died

Everybody knows that Tupac Shakur died nearly ten years ago. It's a fact. Nobody can argue that... well, nobody with an ounce of sanity, that is. Tupac is as dead as can be.

Well, something else that nobody can argue about is the fact that since he's died he's continued to put out some great music. Music that sounds like the stuff he was making when he was alive (obviously), but not exactly the same. It's still new, it's still fresh, yet Tupac remains... still dead.

I don't think Tupac's the only person who's died but continues to live on in pop culture. I think a bunch of actors, actresses, and even musicians who we assume are alive, actually died years ago. However, just like Tupac, they're continuing to churn out project after project. All the signs are there.

Denzel Washington died shortly after receiving his first and only Oscar for the movie "Training Day." Movie studios have tried to clue audiences in by releasing the same Denzel Washington movie 4 times with different titles, but oddly nobody has ever picked up on it. Looking at the movie posters, though, where Denzel stands in front of something exploding and looks off in one direction or another, it couldn't be more obvious.

By now everybody knows that every John Cusack movie that's come out post-1997 is nothing more than a montage of every John Cusack movie that came out pre-1997. 'High Fidelity,' 'America's Sweethearts,' 'Serendipity,' and 'Must Love Dogs' are comprised solely of the unused footage from 'Say Anything' and 'Grosse Point Blank.' If only John didn't overdose on those anti-depressants on New Years eve that year I bet he would have gone on to do great things.

The Guy from 'Napoleon Dynamite' actually died midway through the filming of 'Napoleon Dynamite.' It's impossible to tell when, though, because the whole thing is so damn boring. If you've seen previews for the new Reece Witherspoon movie 'Just Like Heaven,' it's evident that they just used John Heder's audition tape and green screened him in. He's playing the exact same role! It's too easy.

Jodie Foster sadly met her untimely end immediately after 'Panic Room' wrapped. That's why her new movie "Flightplan" is the exact same thing: a thriller that takes place in an enclosed space. It's believed Jodie took her own life after she couldn't determine whether or not she was attractive, much like we've been doing for the past 20 years.

Rivers Cuomo died following the conclusion of the "Pinkerton" tour in 1996. Doctors believe his death was one of a kind, as he literally died because nobody understood him. The three albums since their return are comprised solely of tracks that weren't good enough for the first two (which is evident to anybody who's listened to them), and the Rivers Cuomo you now see on tour is actually an animatronic robot, much like the ones at Disneyland's "Hall of Presidents." Only geekier.

Rob Schneider never actually existed. He was actually just a bad character played by Adam Sandler, who, as we all know, died immediately following the 'Happy Gilmore' wrap party.

Paris Hilton died while Rick Soloman was going down on her during "One Night in Paris." Anybody who's ever seen the tape can attest to her lifelessness. If she had a soul, that's the moment when we would have seen it leave her body.

What's Ashley Judd been up to, you've probably asked yourself. Well, not much, considering she's been dead since 'Kiss The Girls.' Unfortunately, Ashley didn't prepare as well as other actresses, which is why she plays a very similar character in 'Double Jeopardy,' 'High Crimes,' and 'Eye of the Beholder.' Once again, the movie studios tried to clue us in by designing every poster to look the same: a close up shot of her face and her male costar's face (usually Morgan Freeman, who may never die) superimposed on top of some kind of shadowy background.

I know everybody thinks Vince Vaughn died years ago, but nope. He's still kicking. It's his limited acting ability-- NOT the fact that he's dead-- that's lead to him playing the same character in every movie since 'Swingers.' John Favreau on the other hand is dead as a doornail. He died from eating so much that his stomach exploded while he was writing 'Made.' His IFC show 'Dinner For Five' was actually filmed years ago following the conclusion of 'PCU,' which explains his weight.

So there's the Tupac Theory. Sorry if I've shattered any illusions here today. There are a few more people that I'm suspicious of-- I'm looking at you, Ben Stiller-- but I'm going to have to just wait and see. In the words of Pac, that's just the way it is.

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b at 1:11 PM

a lame friday post

I'm off to Melissa's show, so there's no time to post. However, I just wanted to tell everybody to go see The 40-Year-Old Virgin if you haven't already.

That's all.

Have a great weekend.

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b at 1:13 PM

what's wrong with me?

-- I'm simulatneously an optimist and a fatalist
-- My ratio of "I'll burn that CD for you" to actually burning it: roughly 8:1
-- I usually prefer salad with no dressing
-- I can't comprehend addiction
-- I don't take advantage of getting free music at work because I enjoy buying CDs.
-- Usually I find scrolling through the radio or flipping through channels more satisfying than actually listening to or watching something
-- I overuse commas
-- My pillow is the only pillow that truly gives me happiness
-- When I was a kid I loved TGIF so much that I trained myself to shower completely during a single commercial break.
-- I brag a little too often about my unparalleled sense of direction
-- I once asked my mom what a dildo was
-- If "Airborne" was playing on Showtime and "Citizen Kane" was playing on TCM, I'm watching the rollerbladers
-- Comments make me happy, yet I slack when it comes to commenting on other people's sites
-- I'm over the internet
-- I hated my iPod for the first month I had it because I was scared of getting it scratched. I'm better now.
-- I was the only person at Towson who had to retake his ID picture because I looked away at the last second because I thought I looked cuter that way
-- I usually feel like I deserve praise for things that I'm supposed to do. Like, "Wow, you got your cell phone fixed? Nice job!"
-- My anti-mushroom stance has ruined many a pizza for friends
-- For an entire year I acted mentally retarded whenever I went to 7-11 near my school. Every employee there knew me, and thought it was for real. One night during finals I just didn't feel like doing it, so I went in normal. I've never seen two Indian men who were more confused in my entire life.

what's wrong with me?

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b at 3:01 PM

everything I know I learned from the movies

Maybe it's because I'm reading "The Kid Stays In The Picture" right now, but recently I've been thinking a lot about movies and about what an important part they play in our lives. I couldn't imagine a life without movies. I've learned so many important lessons from them... so many.

You only get three great women in your lifetime. Sadly for Chazz Palminteri he had all of his when he was 16. A Bronx Tale

Putting your dick through a hole in a bucket of popcorn may not get the results you desire, but it's not a bad idea either. Diner

You can whine and cry about your ex-girlfriend for about six months before your friends call you a bitch. Swingers

Nothing brings a feuding group of friends closer than a sing along. Specifically, a sing along to Elton John. Almost Famous

Hoverboards don't work on water. Back To The Future II

Fingering a girl on a rollercoaster = good. Carving her name + "4 Eva" on your chest = not good. Fear

The worst thing about letting your daughter marry karate legend Bruce Lee would be "yellow babies." Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story

It's okay to long for a 13-year-old girl, but only if you make sure that you only tell one or two people. Beautiful Girls

In a time of war, a good President would put on his uniform and man a fighter jet. Independence Day

In a time when an asteroid is hurtling towards Earth, it's important we trust our miners. Not, you know, NASA. Armegeddon

Despite what Carl Everett thinks, dinosaurs may have actually existed. Granted, I don't think you need a movie to figure that out, but maybe it helped Carl. Jurassic Park

By simply following a train of thought, you will ALWAYS find what you're looking for. National Treasure

Heaven doesn't want Keanu Reeves. Hell wants him. Or is it, heaven wants Keanu Reeves, hell won't take him? Oh, Earth needs him, right? So heaven doesn't want him, hell doesn't want him either, and Earth needs him. That doesn't sound right. Hmm. Constantine

If you want to be extremely cool in the wealthy town of Encino, California, all you need is a pool. That's it. Encino Man

There's one thing we can all agree on: The Electrocutes rock. Drive Me Crazy

Now it's your turn. Best comment/lesson, I'll buy you a cookie.

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b at 3:43 PM

miss-educated

Hey, what are you doing Friday afternoon at 2? If you have summer fridays, or if you're a no good dirty slacker, you should check out the final performance of The Miss Education of Jenna Bush, starring the lovely Melissa Rauch. I'd say go to the Thursday night show, but it's already sold out. Bitches.

Click here for tickets.

Melissa's a good friend and a great comedian, and from what I hear this show is hilarious. So do it. Go. You won't do it. You're all talk. Come on. Do it. Do it.

I'll see you there.

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b at 1:23 PM

Spoiler Alert: Six Feet Under, Over, and Out

I didn't cry during Six Feet Under last night. I almost did. But I didn't.

Hey, I couldn't. I was in Hoboken watching the show with a bunch of friends, it would have been completely unacceptable. The only time you're allowed to cry in Hoboken is when the keg runs out, or if the girl you're talking to at the bar has built up an immunity to roofies. That's it. There's no way I could have let anybody see I was getting choked up as Ruth lay in her deathbed, or as the entire family was toasting to Nate. I just couldn't let it happen.

It was hard, though. Since I had missed the previous two episodes, we watched all 3 in a row. That's a lot of depression at one time. By the end of the first episode I had missed, the one where they are all coping with Nate's death, I was in need of Prozac or some other sort of anti-depressant. By the end of the second I had passed the point of medication and decided that maybe I should just drink the pain away instead. And when the end credits started rolling after the finale, I was inconsolable. I realized that I don't need to be a cutter like Frankie on RW: San Diego to see if I still feel, I just need a Six Feet Under marathon. That will do the trick.

I had heard that the series would end with a montage of everybody dying. I was looking forward to that throughout the entire episode, so much so that I really don't think I can evaluate it properly. It's like when you have a favorite song on an album, how you don't really care for the song right before it because it's just keeping you from what you really want to hear. The show was like that.

So let's talk about the montage. I wasn't looking forward to it in a macho, "Yeah! I can't wait to see everybody bite the dust!" type way. Not in the least. I was looking forward to it because, well, I thought that it was the perfect way to end the series. I was curious how they were going to do it. Who will we see die? George? Maya? Everybody? I wanted to know how Alan Ball was going to do it. Would it be a montage? Would it be a series of more straight forward deaths, like in the opening? If it was, would I be able to handle that? I don't think so. Imagine seeing a slow, 90 second vignette about Ruth dying, followed by one about David dying, followed by another one about Claire dying... no way. I couldn't deal.

The montage was perfect. Granted, it was unintentionally hilarious at times, but it was perfect nonetheless. Maybe it's because of our higher standards when it comes to make up and special effects, or maybe it's because we're all jaded and cynical nowadays, but watching the characters get older was more funny than it was sad. Like David's receding hairline, or Claire's evolution into Cher. It was just kind of odd. And when Keith got shot, I'm not sure why, it didn't have the impact they were looking for. No, it wasn't as bad as when Brad Pitt got hit by a car in "Meet Joe Black" (the single most unintentionally hilarious moment in cinema history), but it wasn't that moving either.

The song was great, I thought. Stereogum has the mp3, if you're so inclined. Six Feet Under has always dominated when it comes to music. Their promo for season 4 with Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" was one of the best I've ever seen. And the promo where they used "A Rush of Blood to the Head" made me like that song more than I ever thought I could. Of course, that episode earlier this season where all the old bitches were standing in a circle singing together was a complete disaster, but let's pretend that never happened. Okay?

I'm kind of bummed today that it's all over. But like they said in the ads leading up to this season, "Everything ends." And that it did.

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b at 2:15 PM

With a Little Help From My Friends

As many of you already know, or as I'm sure you've been able to figure out, my girlfriend and I broke up a few weeks ago. I'm not going to go into details-- as things like that are, and should remain, personal-- but for those of you out there seeking gossip and whatnot, know that we're still good friends and we parted in the most mutual way possible. So there you have it.

That being said, I've noticed that life post-breakup is different than anything else you can experience. Suddenly, it seems like everybody you know falls into one sort of post-breakup category or another. I've had a handful of significant breakups in my life, and I've been there for several good friends during theirs too, and I've noticed that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

These are the groups that I've noticed always seem to form, going all the way back to my break up with my high school sweetheart Miranda in 1998. Ahh, 1998, what a year. Sorry, getting distracted. Okay, here we go.

Your Buddies/ Your Girlfriends

After a breakup, a guy will turn to his buddies for support. Not emotional support, mind you, because men don't have emotions. Rather, it's more physical support. As in company. When everything is over, it's your buddies' job to make sure you go out, get drunk, get your mind off of things, talk sports, and genuinely distract you from everything else going on. That's the guy version. I'm not sure what girls and their girlfriends do, but if stereotypes hold true it involves shopping, cosmos, and spa treatments. However, if porn stereotypes hold true it involves pillow fights, sex toys, and a studly poolboy watching through the window. I think.

Your Inner Circle & Your Outer Circle

A breakup makes you realize who's part of your inner circle of friends and who's more of an outer circle friend. Since going through the details of a doomed relationship can get pretty tiresome and pretty repetitive, you're left picking and choosing who gets the whole story and who gets the, "Yeah, we broke up. It sucks," treatment. The good thing about having a solid Inner Circle is that they can pass the story along to the Outer Circle and save you the trouble. Of course, there's a risk that things might get altered a bit, however it's a small price to pay to not have to relive things over and over and over again. Also, there's usually a reason that Outer Circle friends are Outer Circle friends. They're the ones that say things like, "Yeah, so let's go bang chicks!" or "I never liked her anyway," undoubtedly the two dumbest things to say to somebody post-breakup.

Your Opposite Sex Best Friend

Everybody needs one. Your Opposite Sex BF is one of the most crucial pieces in the post-breakup puzzle. They're the only ones who can really offer you solid insight into your partner's mind, or help you take a step back to see things from a different perspective. If you're a guy talking to your buddies, odds are you're not going to get into intimate details about things. Talking to a girl that you're close to, though, you're more likely to open up and as a result figure things out.

If you're a girl talking to your girlfriends, you're bound to hear cliches like "Guys suck" instead of something meaningful. But if you're a girl talking to a guy friend, the last thing he wants is for you to hate his entire gender. So he'll be more likely to offer you another perspective on things, which you could probably use considering all women are crazy.

Whoops. Sorry about that.

But seriously, it's important to have a good friend of the opposite sex to help you through a breakup. One of the key things to this, though, is it should be a friend who knows you well, and one you've had for quite some time. Otherwise, you risk falling into the hands of The Opportunist.

The Opportunist

Ah, yes, the Opportunist. The Opportunist wants you to believe they're your Opposite Sex BF, but the truth is they're only after one thing: You. The Opportunist usually shows up towards the end of the relationship, and sensing blood in the water, begins positioning him/herself. When the breakup happens, the Opportunist is there, ready to comfort. The Opportunist is the one who will say things like, "Listen, you just have to do what's best for you," ... while putting one arm around you and rubbing your leg with the other.

Most guys have been an Opportunist at some point in their lives. I can remember being in the third grade and writing a note to the prettiest girl in class about why she should be my girlfriend if she ever broke up with her boyfriend. That was early opportunism. Opportunists usually thrive in school settings, and generally seem to peak in college. However, by the time most guys graduate, they realize that being an Opportunist is shallow and that it makes you feel pretty shitty. That's why you don't see many Opportunists anymore; because only true scumbags would keep that act up in the real world.

Believe it or not, Opportunists exist as both men and women. However, guys usually refer to female Opportunists as "rebounds," so they tend to get misclassified.

The Leave Me Alones

The Leave Me Alones are the absolute last people you want to talk to about everything. In fact, usually your Inner Circle doesn't want to talk to them either. So, the Leave Me Alones are forced to get their information from your Outer Circle, and as a result never really know what's going on. "Oh, I heard she dumped you because she caught you with her sister." What??? Go away, you Leave Me Alone.

Sadly, parents usually fall into the Leave Me Alone category too, but that's only because you can get away with it. You've been telling them to leave you alone since you were 12, you'd think they'd get the hint by now. Gosh!

The Fuck Its
Who's below a Leave Me Alone? The Fuck Its. Why? Because fuck it, you're not even going to acknowledge the break up happened, that's how little you care about them. "Hey, how are things with (Blank)?" "Things are good." Done. Fuck it.

Your Bartender

Because he's a lot cheaper than a psychologist and just as effective. Now pour me another.

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b at 5:23 PM

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

This post contains

1 Teenage Starlet
1 Gold Wheelchair
1 Struggling Actress
1 West Hollywood Gay Bar
2 for 1 drink specials
3 Nights of drinking excessively
4 Complete Idiots
and 1 big ol' Hollywood Hooker. Have you come to expect anything less?

"I'm going to have sex with a celebrity."

That was my battle cry in the weeks leading up to our trip to LA. I figured if I said it over and over again it would stick, and that would result in it happening. Kind of like when you repeat "I'm not going to drink tonight, I'm not going to drink tonight" over and over again. Wait a second, that never works. Fuck. That explains it.

Now of course, I wasn't actually serious about it. I say stupid things like that all the time to get a reaction out of friends, and more importantly, to set up nice little sub plots. I very easily could have said, "I'm going to punch Brad Pitt in the face" and it would have carried the same amount of weight. And to be honest, I probably had a better chance of accomplishing that one.

During my 'sex with a celebrity' conversations my friends would ask me the same thing: Who do you consider a celebrity? That's a tough one. My definition has changed over time. A couple of years ago I decided that the only real celebrities were the people that my grandparents could identify. Using that scale, Tom Cruise was a celebrity, but Freddie Prinze Jr. was not. Kevin Costner and Julia Roberts were celebrities, but Mark Paul Gosselar and Tiffani Amber Theissan were not. It made sense. When I ran out of grandparents I decided to scale it back to "if my mom identifies someone, they're a celebrity," but that didn't work either because she reads People magazine.

Now, my perception of celebrity is warped. I work on a pop culture TV show. I know more about Lindsay Lohan and Hilary Duff than my 10 year old sister does, and that's scary. Plus, with reality TV and all that other crap, I don't even know what a celebrity is anymore. So I decided that when I was in LA, a celebrity would mean everyone from Paris Hilton to anybody who's ever appeared on Blind Date. I figured that would help my chances. And for the record, Freddie Prinze Jr. doesn't rank on that scale either.

But ANYWAY.

We arrived in LA at 9:30 in the morning on Thursday. Due to a stroke of luck, and a stroke of Mark's father having more connections than James Caan in "Honeymoon in Vegas," we were staying at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills. Us. Four unshaven guys who rented a Chevrolet Classic for the weekend were staying at the Four Seasons. When we pulled up to the front door I was crossing my fingers that Richard Gere would step out and tell the concierge that we were with him and not to give us any problems like he did for Julia in Pretty Woman. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, our valet guy laughed at us when we gave him our keys and said, "Hey, be careful this one, okay? It's a Classic."

Thanks to another stoke of luck, our room wasn't ready when we arrived. So, to make amends they bumped us up to a suite. Naturally. You wouldn't want to upset us. We're big spenders, after all.

Speaking of spending, I felt like Larry David all weekend. I've stayed in nice hotels before, but nothing like this. Every five feet there was somebody else that we may or may not have had to tip. The valet, obviously. The guy holding the door? Not sure. The concierges? Sometimes. The people at the front desk? I don't think so. The guy at the pool who set up your chair? Yep. The guy at the pool who came around with water? I think so. The guy at the pool who came around with lemonade Popsicles? No, out of principle. The hooker in the bar? Not yet. That's coming.

Okay, so our first night in LA we got an early start. We headed to a margarita bar on Sunset for their 2-1 Happy Hour. The place was hopping, and we were all enjoying various types of margaritas. We were sitting in between two mixed groups of friends. When the song "The Boys of Summer" came on, the girl to my left announced to her buddies, "Hey, I fucked Don Henley." Welcome to LA.

To my right, these two girls sat down. One was a cute blonde, and the other one we quickly dubbed PMLC, or Poor Man's LC. Since the tables were close together, we knew it was only a matter of time before we began talking to them. Rather than go right into it, I broke out my favorite move ever: asking a bizarre question loud enough to my friends where if she hears it she'll not only laugh and out herself as listening, but she'll be forced to reply. I don't remember what I said, but whatever it was it worked. We started talking to the two girls, as well as the hunky guy friends that had joined them. The cute blonde, whose name I'll share with you in a moment, had just moved to LA from Connecticut to... here it comes... be an actress. Didn't see that one coming. I was excited, because I had never actually met somebody who moved to LA to become an actress before. Dan was even more excited, because she was flirting with him excessively. She told him that things hadn't been going that great so far but said if we googled her name and did an image search we could find some pictures of her.

I saved you the trouble.

And yes, her name is actually Field Pool. You gotta love her.

We ended the night at the Chateau Marmont, the bar where I met Trichelle the last time we were out there. Unfortunately, there were no Real World/Road Rules celebrities out, so we called it a night. Thanks to the 2-1 margaritas we were all trashed by 1, so the night ended earlier than expected. Hey, we were still on New York time, leave us alone. But all in all, night one was great.

Can you tell I'm compensating for not posting this week by writing a long one? I hope you appreciate that.

Midway through Day 2 we were surprised by our lack of celebrity sightings. Not disappointed, just surprised. We were staying at the Four Seasons for god's sake and the only thing we had to show for it was Dan saw Toni Collette's room service receipt lying on the concierge desk. I don't think that counts. Well, the drought ended later that morning when we pulled the Classic into the hotel driveway and spotted Larry Flynt getting lifted out of his Bentley and placed into his gold wheelchair. At that point, Dan confessed that things were going to be awkward because he's the guy who shot him, while I was excited because I figured Larry would be an easy celebrity to have sex with because a) he wouldn't be able to get away, and b) he couldn't feel it anyway. Things were looking up.

We spent Friday in Santa Monica riding bikes and ogling girls. I noticed that the most common phrase uttered since we stepped off the plane in Burbank was, "Holy shit, check out that blonde over there. She's (insert synonym for 'Unbelievable' here). I mean, wow." I'd live out there if I wasn't worried that my head might explode. Seriously, I'd be worried.

When we got back to the hotel that night to get dressed and head out, the bar was bustling. We headed over to the elevators and started plotting out our night. Then, the doors opened, and Mischa Barton stepped out.

Mark was in heaven. Out of the four of us, he's the only O.C. fan, so it was especially meaningful for him. I equated it to how I would have felt if I had seen Sarah Michelle Gellar back in '98. I was happy for him. When we got back to our room, Mark immediately called all of his friends to tell them that he "met" Mischa Barton. Hey, we're in LA. The city is a mecca of lies and bullshit, right? We were getting the hang of it real quick.

Friday night we headed back to Sunset and started at the Saddlehorse Ranch because our friend Field was working and she told us to drop by. The night was a success because we drank Long Island Iced Teas that were bigger than our heads and we did NOT ride the mechanical bull. Thank god for that.

So following a little bar hopping, Dan and I headed back to the hotel before the others because we wanted to check out the bar to see if it was still going. We got back at 1:50, and naturally, we had forgotten that bars in LA close at 2. When we walked into the bar it was completely empty and we were devastated. We didn't know what to do. We were just about to leave, when a blonde woman with a hat and short shorts approached us.

Woman: Yeah, it sucks that this place closes so early, right?
Dan: Yeah, it blows.
Me: Well, it's not two yet. Is there anywhere else to go?
Woman: Um, your room.
Me: Right. Is there anywhere else?
Woman: Nope. Just your room.

So there you go. Another trip to LA, another hooker. What's with this city??? More importantly, what's with us? Do we just scream "We love hookers!" I'm scared.

Despite her pleas, we did not take her up on her generous offer. However, that didn't stop us from talking to her for a while. What else were we going to do? Dan was loving fucking with her, but she kind of made me nervous. She could tell too. At one point she looked at me and said, "Hey, stop being so nervous. I'm cool. I'm not going to bite." Then, to prove her point, she leaned in and kissed my neck.

BLEEAAAAGGHAHHHHHHHH

When we got back to the room I immediately grabbed a bar of soap and started scrubbing the spot where her lips hit. Excessively. I was waxing on and off like Daniel Son on Mr. Miyagi's prized car collection. I think I got all of the hooker juice off, but still, you never know. I might be pregnant.

We spent most of Saturday relaxing by the pool. Mischa was there (in a bikini), so we decided we could officially upgrade our relationship to "we hung out with Mischa."

Saturday night we met up with an old friend from college, Jennie, who's living out there now. She took us to a cool Mediterranean place for dinner, and then we went to meet up with some of her friends at a bar in West Hollywood. A gay bar. If nothing else, we're diverse. We planned on going to Forty Deuce, but we lost track of time at some other bar on Melrose and never made it over there. Oh well. It was a fun night nonetheless.

Sunday, it was time to go. We grumpily packed our bags, said goodbye to the nicest room we'll ever stay in and made our way to the elevators. We got on and started heading down. At the floor below us it stopped... and Mischa got on. She was with a cute girl and two guys, one who looked like he was auditioning for the Black Crowes, and the other who looked like a suitable replacement if the new 7-Up guy ever got injured. And they had a dog.

When the elevator stopped again some suits in the back had to get off. They were kind of rude as they tried to squeeze past everybody, and the dog was going nuts. Mischa held her head and said, "I really don't need this this morning," but laughed when the doors closed and it was just us. Dan pet the dog. Somebody made fun of the suits and we all laughed. And when we got off the elevator we were all best friends.

So yes. I fucked Mischa Barton.

And by fucked I mean 'rode the elevator with.'

But who cares. It's LA. The whole town is bullshit anyway.

And I love it.

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b at 4:49 AM

going going, back back, to Cali Cali

So I'm off to Los Angeles first thing tomorrow morning for a long weekend of relaxing, boozing, and having fun with some friends. Things are bound to be interesting, as I've only made 2 trips to LA and both left me with hooker stories.

One reality TV star hooker story.

And one 'trapped in the backseat of a car in Inglewood at 1 in the morning with 2 hookers' story.

I have no clue what's going to happen this time.

So I guess my question is, for those of you out in LA, where should we go and what should we do to ensure we have a fun, hooker-free weekend? Clearly I'm not capable of figuring this out.

Wish me luck. I'll be back Monday.

Hopefully.

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b at 1:40 PM

Get out of NY NOW!!!

They're back. I knew they would return.

Tell your loved ones to leave the city as soon as possible. It's only a matter of time before they take over and enslave the human race.

Run. Run. Run. For the Snakehead Fish is back. Don't say I didn't warn you.

May God help us all.

From the NY Times: They are snakehead fish, the nightmarish creatures from Asia that made news when they were discovered living in a Maryland pond in 2002. They were said to be able to breathe air and walk on their fins, devouring everything in their path.

Secretary of the Interior Gale A. Norton called them "something from a bad horror movie" before ordering a federal ban. And to guarantee that they could not escape, the whole Maryland pond was poisoned.

Last month, biologists with New York State's Department of Environmental Conservation were doing a routine sampling of the fish in the brackish water at Meadow Lake in Flushing Meadows-Corona Park in Queens when, to their horror, they found a northern snakehead fish, then another and another until they had five, including one monster 28 inches long.

"At that point," said James J. Gilmore Jr., a biologist who is regional supervisor of natural resources at the state agency's New York City office, "we knew we had a problem."

To confirm that the fish were snakeheads, Mr. Gilmore sent photographs to the United States Geological Survey office in Gainesville, Fla., which is mission control for the national crusade to eradicate snakeheads.

"As soon as I saw the pictures, I said, 'Oh no, not again,' " said Walter R. Courtenay Jr., a fisheries biologist with the Geological Survey who has tracked down snakeheads in Massachusetts, Pennsylvania and Virginia.

His message to New York: Get rid of them.

Tell me that doesn't sound like a horror movie. Good luck out there. You're going to need it.

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b at 1:17 PM

Lessons Learned from Rocky I to Rocky III

Lesson I - Jesus loves poop

I'm sure a solid 3, maybe 4 of you were bummed that I didn't update this site yesterday. Well, I did. Or at least I tried. But thanks to an act of God, my computer froze before I hit "publish" and I lost the entire thing. You should be thankful for that.

Why? Because it was the strangest thing I've ever written for this site-- and that's saying something. The title of the post was "uncensored thoughts while staring at the keyboard player from the Shout Out Louds last night." And what was it about? Well, that, obviously. I spent the majority of the SOL show staring at this gorgeous woman, and while doing so I had some really strange thoughts. Those thoughts then went off on really bizarre tangents. And those tangents turned into even more strange thoughts. At some point during the show I decided that I was going to write them all down when I got home and maybe make a post out of them.

Sounds like a winner, right? You have no idea.

Long story short, I fell in love with Beeban that night (that's her name, Beeban. How great is that). She reminded me of women I never met, she made the idea of doing heroin together sexy, and she inspired me to move to Sweden when it's time to find a wife. And those were the normal thoughts.

Seriously, thank you jesus for not letting me post the uncensored thoughts. You're my favorite savior/god/carpenter ever. I owe you one.

Lesson II - Sencio loves poop

I want to thank everybody for the outpouring of emotion following my John Sencio IM conversation. The only thing better than talking to the legend himself was sharing it with all of you.

Not only did the IM conversation signify the end of an era, but it also served as an appropriate final chapter to an incredible week. Why's that? Well, seven days earlier I had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to interview one of the biggest stars of the 1980's for Best Week Ever.

The one
the only
Corey Feldman.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to ask him about "License to Drive" or "Blown Away" (the good one, not the Tommy Lee Jones one).

However, I did get to bullshit with him for a little while and find out what ringtone he uses.

Next time you're at a dinner party, feel free to use this as a conversation starter: "You know Corey Feldman, star of Goonies and Rock & Roll High School? His ringtone is 'Brass Monkey' by the Beastie Boys. Now, can you pass me a mini-quiche? Thanks."

Lesson III - I love poop

I do, I swear. In the words of Rhett Miller, for the last few weeks "my heart wasn't in it, not for one single minute," but as the month goes on you'll see this site transform back to the moderately amusing distraction from work that you fell in love with back when it was kind of funny. You'll see.

Now, this doesn't mean I'm going away. Like Jason Giambi, I'm going to battle through this and come back better than ever. So don't go away. If you stick it out with me, together we'll end up on top. Kind of like... Rocky.

Holy shit, I never thought I'd be able to tie this all together. Thank you Cornershop!

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b at 10:50 AM

the outtakes

You always hear sports announcers say, "Sometimes the best trades are the ones that aren't made." It makes sense. If the Yankees would have traded Bernie Williams for Albert Belle back in the day, who knows what would have happened to the team over the last few years. It could have been a disaster.

Well, playing off that, here at My Blog is Poop, sometimes the best posts are the ones that don't get posted.

Actually, that's not true. The ones that don't get posted suck. I mean, that's why I didn't put them out there for everyone to see. Well, I thought I'd share with you bits and pieces of my drafts that didn't make it on the site. Some are just titles. Others are the beginnings of posts that I quickly gave up on because I wasn't feeling it. And others are just ramblings... or ruminations, if you will. So here they are. The outtakes.

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fire me and give me a book deal!

Since the key to blogging stardom is apparently getting yourself fired for revealing stuff your employers don't want you to reveal, I finally realized what I need to do. I need to tell you what's going on here at the MTV Networks, and give you such juicy, evil gossip that my employers have no choice but to fire me. Then, people will write stories about me in the New York Times, I'll be featured in People magazine, and last but not least, I'll score a sweet, sweet book deal. I can't wait.

Perks

Working at VH1, we get so many perks. Like, right now I'm sitting at my desk. But right around the corner from my desk is a kitchen, right? And you know what's in the kitchen (aside from forks and a sink and all that obvious stuff)? A soda machine! Guess how much it costs to get a drink. NOTHING! Free soda all day long. Today I had like 4 cokes, a sprite, and a rootbeer. Suck on that.

I know you're getting jealous that we can drink all the soda we want for free and you probably can't. Well, I guess that's my reward for working SO HARD at my liberal arts state school for 4 years. I earned it!

Gossip

You know who's gay?

Logo.

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Title: Yes, it's hot out, you unoriginal fuck

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Not a day goes by that I don't wonder, "Hmm, what do I have to do NOT to get AIDS today?" I often lose sleep over it. Sometimes I break out in uncontrollable sweats and am forced to dismiss myself from public settings to cower alone, terrified. I mean, if I only I knew how NOT to get AIDS my life would be so much better. Wouldn't yours?

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As I was waiting for the elevator yesterday and fumbling with the keys in my pocket, I couldn't help but notice an electrical socket near one of the two doors. Nothing unusual. Yet for some reason-- I can't explain why-- I suddenly had the intense desire to shove one of my keys into that outlet. I didn't, of course, but the impulse was there.

Now don't freak out. The desire to shove a key into an electrical socket was by no means a cry for help. It also didn't stem from curiosity. I mean, I know what would've happened, I do watch Six Feet Under after all. If anything, I'd like to think that the only thing that created that impulse in my mind was thinking "hmm, this would fit in there." I know that's not the most intelligent reason to do something, but just about every guy I know has gotten themselves in trouble because of the whole "this would fit in there" thing at one point or another, so at least I wouldn't be alone.

It got me thinking, though. People have stupid impulses constantly, but since they only last a fraction of a second they're all extremely forgettable. If I wasn't writing about sticking a key into an electrical socket I probably wouldn't have even given it a second thought. I guess that's what separates crazy people from normal people. I'm able to ignore my moronic impulses, while crazy people are all about sticking things in sockets.

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Title: You're not at Disneyland. Stop taking pictures of buildings and let me go to work.

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A couple of weeks ago Dan called and awoke me from my slumber (note: I'm actually not sure if that's true, but I like the way it sounds.)

Dan: Bob, guess what, Oasis is going to be in NY this June. Guess where they're playing.
Bob: (possibly rubbing the sleep out of my eyes) Um, I don't know. My apartment?
Dan: No. Bigger.
Bob: (maybe sitting up in bed) I don't know. Your apartment?

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Bob's Favorite Songs By Teenage Girls
1. Ashlee Simpson - "Pieces of Me" (best dumb song since "Complicated")
2. Hilary Duff - "Come Clean"
3. Ashlee Simpson - "Shadow"
4. Lindsay Lohan - "Rumors"
5. Maroon 5 - "This Love"

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Title: A Poem

If I were black, I'd have dreadlocks.
And I'd have a black tattoo on one of my biceps. It'd be a name and a date, and I'd only tell girlfriends and baby mama's what it symbolizes.
If I were black I'd be a little bit cooler.
I'd talk endlessly about New School and Old School, and know what I was talking about.
If I were black I'd be better at basketball.
Not physically, but people would assume I was better, so they'd probably let up on D as not to get embarrassed, giving me easier shots.
If I were black I would say, "It's because I'm black, isn't it?" a lot.
Mostly to be funny, however I'd still break it out to make white people uncomfortable on occasion.
If I were black I would

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Title: Cat Stevens = Terrorist

Everybody's making a big deal about Cat Stevens, a.k.a Yao;iuj;lk Islam, not being allowed back into America because of alleged terrorist ties. I, for one, could not be happier. I've always believed that Cat was a terrorist. I mean, if you really look into his songs it's actually quite obvious. Seriously. Take his song "Wild World." The song was released in the mid 1970's, but only became a big hit in America after Mr. Big covered it following the success of "To Be With You" in the early 1990's. If you study the lyrics, it's quite obvious what Cat is trying to say.

Wild World

Now that I've lost everything to you (America, & the Bush administration)
You say you wanna start something new (this "new" Iraq)
And it's breakin' my heart you're leavin'
Baby, I'm grievin' (the loss of my Muslim brothers)
But if you wanna leave, take good care (don't let the door hit 'ya)
I hope you have a lot of nice things to wear (like a bodybag!)
But then a lot of nice things turn bad out there (you know it!)

Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world
It's hard to get by just upon a smile (praise Allah)
Oh, baby, baby, it's a wild world
I'll always remember you like a child, girl (infidels!)

You know I've seen a lot of what the world can do (like Baywatch)
And it's breakin' my heart in two (it's an outrage)
Because I never wanna see you a sad girl
Don't be a bad girl (cover your shit up, Pam)
But if you wanna leave, take good care
I hope you make a lot of nice friends out there (you know, during the jihad)
But just remember there's a lot of bad and beware (beware!)

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Title: My very last post

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Title: How To Drive Like A Motherfucking Asshole

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In July 2002, I decided it was time to take RUMINATIONS from the page to the stage and made my stand-up comedy debut in New York City. The show was an incredible success and garnered me a full-page article in the New York Post. A few weeks later, I left Wall Street to pursue comedy full-time.

Why???? Dear God, why did you leave Wall Street? Is it too late to go back? Seriously. I'll make some calls.

God, I hate you Aaron Karo.
------------------------------------

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b at 6:07 PM

Sencio Speaks!!!!

It happened people. It finally happened. After months of IM'ing and pestering, the Immortal John Sencio finally spoke to me today. Dreams really do come true.

If you're new to this site, you must understand: I love John Sencio. Check out what happens when you search his name here. I've been IM'ing him for quite some time now and he has never ever responded. So when I saw he was signed on today I readied myself for the typical "i write 3 lines, he signs off" interaction. However, what happened was magical. He mistook me for somebody else, and like a cougar I POUNCED. The end result? A 20 minute IM conversation and a new best friend in life.

I broke the conversation up into chapters for your enjoyment. And for my enjoyment. Here we go, the unedited conversation:

Chapter I - Mistaken Identity

buffoon 668: hey john! long time no talk
buffoon 668: how's your summer going?
buffoon 668: hey, i'm gonna be in LA next weekend. we should get together or something, i'd love to buy you a drink
JSTVTRIBE: Yo dawg is that your new Email?
buffoon 668: yeah, but i don't really check it too often. i mainly use myblogispoop@gmail.com
buffoon 668: what's new?
JSTVTRIBE: Not more poop - I'm sick of kids diapers
buffoon 668: haha. yeah?
buffoon 668: i'm gonna be in LA next weekend. staying at the 4 seasons. want to grab a drink?
JSTVTRIBE: Dude, am I having mistaken identity? I have to take my kid hiking today.

Chapter II - The Sencio Fan Club

buffoon 668: maybe. we've actually never met, but i'm a big fan
JSTVTRIBE: You know I'm shooitng til September
buffoon 668: yeah? what are you working on?
JSTVTRIBE: Oh sh#*%t, honey call security, hide the kids I responded to my mother pretending to be a "big Fan"!
buffoon 668: haha. no, seriously. i'm legit. i never watched Home Delivery, but i'm a big fan of your mtv stuff and your cameo in "Love Stinks."
JSTVTRIBE: Now that is funny! You mean my "should have been nominated for an acadamy award performance" in Love Stinks?
buffoon 668: you were robbed! i blame french stewart
JSTVTRIBE: French Stewart is a Genius!
buffoon 668: you stole the movie from him. he couldn't recover
buffoon 668: he hasn't recovered to this day
JSTVTRIBE: See, the thing is - I felt I could never top that performance so I've returned to TV.
buffoon 668: oh, naturally. every future film performance would just be held up to that one. you set the bar too high
JSTVTRIBE: EXACTLY - Nirvana broke with Nevermind and always had to live up to that.
buffoon 668: well, i'm glad you didn't pull a kurt cobain following your "nevermind"

Chapter III - Sencio, Today

buffoon 668: what are you working on now?
JSTVTRIBE: Belive it or not I'm wrapping up 26 episodes of a new show for (hold your breath) - HGTV.
buffoon 668: nice! when are you going to get back on mtv? Gideon Yago and Sway got nothing on you
JSTVTRIBE: If you saw Logans Run there is a little light in the palm of our hands - when the color changes - you don't go back.
buffoon 668: that explains why i haven't heard from Jesse Camp
buffoon 668: yes
buffoon 668: that explains it
JSTVTRIBE: God bless his soul...

Chapter IV - Music & Puppets

buffoon 668: hey, so i downloaded a couple of songs from your site. does your band have any shows coming up, or is that more of a side-project type thing?
JSTVTRIBE: Well, I love the music, but I have the mouths to feed so the TV is where I have to devote most of my energy. We're talking to people about a doing a variety type TV show and hopefully we could integrate some music into that. Music and puppets.
buffoon 668: i'm there. if you need a writer, give me a call

Chapter V - I Want My MTV

buffoon 668: hey, did it weird you out seeing Idalis topless on "Six Feet Under?" what did you think?
JSTVTRIBE: Idalis is a blast - that's what all the VJ's used to wear at the Beach house back in the 90's.
buffoon 668: hahaha. damn, i bet!
buffoon 668: craziest story? please tell me it involves both Jenny McCarthy AND Idalis... and maybe even Kennedy
buffoon 668: but please god, don't let it involve John Norris
JSTVTRIBE: I do have some great ones, honestly - they involve chocolate frosting, monkey's, and karate BUT my kid is yanking at my leg and I don't get a lot of free time durning production so I have to take the little peanut hiking (on my back- ugh)!

Chapter VI - Farewell, Sweet Sencio

JSTVTRIBE: We'll continue next time I sign on. If you are not insane stay in touch (mom is this you? If it is I'm telling dad). Be Safe, Be happy - js
buffoon 668: later dude
buffoon 668: have fun
JSTVTRIBE: over & out
JSTVTRIBE signed off at 2:14:53 PM.

And just like that, Sencio rode off into the sunset.

Now I have to come to grips with the fact that I'm living in a post-Sencio world. But don't worry. I shall Never Forget. Over and out.

over and out.

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b at 1:47 PM

today i'm incapable of writing anything funnier than this

from My Blog is Crap

Monday, August 01, 2005
Israeli Broads Will Fuq

No, this isn't a fashion ad from a trendy magazine. I found this in today's newspaper. It's a picture of the Israeli army at a fort. Yes, they are all chicks. CHICKS WITH M-16'S. Could there be anything worse? I'd never put a semi automatic weapon in the hands of a psychotic, emotionally volatile woman. Look at all of them. Some are wearing 80's fighter pilot glasses. The one in the middle looks like she would fuq... then pump you with lead. Maybe stick the barrel up your ass as you grasp for life. Scary as hell.

On the other hand, the entire world should follow suit and put every 18 year old girl in the army. They can develop a nice 6 pack and stay thin. They would learn obedience and become subservient to men. Of course, the training would have to replace guns with spatulas so they can flip the eggs for my eggs benedict. I can't wait to be President.
-------

I'll be back tomorrow. 100%, i think. goodnight.

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b at 5:25 PM

what a waster

(yes, I realize I'm like the 1,087,241st blogger to use that post title. I apologize.)

"I'm on a bender,"

I proudly proclaimed early Friday evening to a group of friends congregating on my deck. As we sat there drinking beer and eating burgers that tasted like the ones you'd eat in your school cafeteria on a tuesday afternoon, I smiled and informed them that I planned on drinking a lot that evening. Like I did the night before. And to some degree, the night before that. And with a full Saturday evening planned, and with the Best Week Ever season 5 wrap party scheduled for Monday night, I knew that my bender was in full swing. And I was pumped.

Of course, the bender had some problems. Namely, the fact that I was happily announcing that I was in the midst of one. Can somebody say they're "on a bender?" I don't think you're supposed to. Friends can say, "so-and-so is on a bender," or at the conclusion of one, you can admit, "Sorry about that, I was on a bender." But saying, "I'm on a bender" kind of takes out the whole "bender" aspect of it, doesn't it? I think so. But since the damage had already been done, from that point on I was doomed to be on an "ironic bender," but a bender nonetheless.

Now, I'm not going to lie to you: as far as benders go, mine has been pretty mild. No drugs, no near death experiences, and no waking up in a dumpster in the middle of Chinatown wearing nothing but my boxers and a hat with a dildo crazy glued to the top of it. Not this time. My bender has been more along the lines of drink a lot of beer, get a little drunk, and have a very good time variety. It's a happy bender. Hooray.

I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Bob, while you may be incredibly good looking, this still doesn't sound like much of a bender-- what gives?" Well, to you all I can say is that I'm doing the best I can. I'm just not as crazy as I used to be. It's like last summer when I was doing stand-up six nights a week and I came down with a week-long cold. In order to "perform through the pain," every night I would drink a whole lot of coffee to wake up before I got on stage, and I would take Nyquil to help me sleep when I got home. Yeah. Sam Kinnison, I am not.

But I'm doing the best I can, I swear. Wednesday night I started the bender off slow-- just a bottle of wine and a few beers with my good friend Sarah. I've never mentioned Sarah on the blog before, so I feel that now would be a good time to mention that I've known her since the first grade, and my earliest memory of her is sitting on the opposite side of the classroom from her and staring at her underwear as she sat directly across from me, spread eagle. That slut. But yes, Sarah's one of my oldest friends, and not that it matters, but I'm pretty sure I have not seen her underwear since.

So now that I got that out of the way. Yes, Wednesday was fairly low key, but still a lot of fun. Thursday night I met some old MTV friends for dinner, had a few drinks with them, and then met up with my friend Howie later that evening to continue drinking until 3. Still, not a crazy night since we didn't do much more than talk (I had a lot to say), but the bender was definitely heading in the right direction.

Now that takes us to Friday, where this post began. Friday night was great. From 8 o'clock on we had a rotating cast of characters visit us on our deck to drink with us and enjoy the amazing weather. It was there that we had some amazing conversations, pondering the important things in life. Everything from how cell phones are responsible for the decline in relationships between people and their friends' parents, to whether or not the one armed former Yankee pitcher Jim Abbott ever used his stump to pleasure a woman.

(for the record, we concluded that he most definitely did. It then devolved... or evolved, depending on your beliefs... to a conversation about whether or not he used the same technique with a tissue while masturbating that he did with his glove while pitching. Only today did I realize that he probably just did it in the shower. Moving on.)

Despite staying out until 4, I was up early on Saturday to continue on the path that I had set out to walk. First, I met up with some friends who were doing a pub crawl in Grenwich Village. That's a start. At 9, I met up with another friend who-- get this-- rented out one of those double decker tour buses for his roommate's birthday. It. was. AWESOME. For just $15 a head, 50 people sat atop one of those red CityLine tour buses and rode around the city for two hours. And even though we weren't allowed to bring bottles on the bus, everybody was allowed to carry water bottles, so that worked out well (if you catch my drift.) But I'm not going to lie- even if I was completely sober I would have loved every second of this. Well, maybe not every second, but most of them. I can't recommend it enough... and I don't think I can laugh at the tourists who do it anymore either, which is kind of sad. Damn.

The night concluded at AlexisT's amazing party, which featured a huge supply of food, alcohol, and Puerto Ricans. That's my kind of bash. By the time that 2 of those 3 things ran out, it was time to call it a night.

Then, on the 7th day, much like the Lord, I rested.

But now it's Monday, and I know in my heart of hearts that the bender must go on. When will it stop? Who knows. Will I ever do anything crazy enough that would make this little run an official "bender?" We'll see. Does anybody have a hat with a dildo crazy glued on top of it that I can borrow? I certainly hope so. And do I have any clue how to end this post? Nope. No I do not.

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go think some more about Jim Abbott now. And I hope you do too.

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b at 1:55 PM